Night Driving Armor
by Quite Operational
Summary: It's been a while since we last spoke, you and I. I, Hachiman Hikigaya. You, the homunculus in my head. This time, I need you to be more than a silent observer. This time... I need you to be my friend.
1. Chapter I

_Author's Note: Now, you're standing at the entrance of your cave..._

* * *

 **NIGHT DRIVING ARMOR**

 **Chapter I** : The Top 1% of the Top 1%

* * *

Hello, friend.

Time has flown by, hasn't it?

...

Forgive me, I'm being rather presumptuous. I guess we've never established what this… bond between us really is. It's just always been there, something I've taken for granted. And yet, we haven't had a proper conversation before, therefore calling us friends is premature.

Damn it. This is more awkward than I intended. I've forgotten how I used to talk to you, you know. From what I remember, you're the quiet type, right?

Tell you what. Let's start over, I'll do the talking for now. After all we've been through together, I owe it to you to be candid.

In the near future, you'll find that I've put myself in a position of moral compromise. But I need you to stay with me, because I've made a mistake.

…

Why does it have to be you?

I suppose first I should define what I mean by that word.

I mean _you._

Does the date January 11th mean anything to you? I believe that was when we first met.

You watched as Hiratsuka-sensei pulverized my teen self when I turned in that essay brilliantly exposing the evils of youth. Since then, you've always been there, privy to my innermost secrets and thoughts.

We've got that comfortable silence thing going on, and you care about my well-being in some way, I think.

You.

The silent observer, the impartial judge.

The homunculus in my head.

This time around, I need you to be something more.

This time, I need you to be my friend.

People have always been telling me to open up to someone. It's far, far too late, but I'm going to try and take their advice to heart. And I'll admit that this isn't something that comes naturally to me. Things will be rocky at first, and I have some problems I'm struggling with, but I promise to give my most sincere effort.

But you can't be the neutral onlooker anymore. I have no use for a yes-man -

Hold on. I want you to say yes to one thing first.

If everything goes to plan, I will lose everything and you will be all I have left. I don't think I can afford to lose you too.

What's that? You need to hear me say it?

...

Well, I'm not going to let your strong-arm tactics win just like that.

But you know what I said about the near future?

We're going to have to resolve this later.

She's here.

 **HER APARTMENT**

 **11:39 PM, October 26, 2018**

It started when I began taking melatonin. The simplest of over-the-counter sleeping aids, first in three milligrams, then five, ten, twenty-five.

Then valerian root.

(Three capsules one hour before bedtime.)

Benadryl.

(I liked it since I could use the excuse of allergies. Of course, it isn't allergy season but strangers like my coworkers or people on the street don't push, content to let little white lies stand.)

Trazodone.

(I used a pill-cutter at first, to minimize the dosage.)

Zaleplon. Then I moved on to zolpidem and zopiclone, just on the basis that they all started with the same letter and I figured one of them would be effective.

(None of them were.)

At some point, I found a way to get my hands on things you can't get a prescription for. More on that later.

But the point is, I was disciplined. My head was filled with the rattling of tablets and pills as I moved from home to the office. I've been avoiding direct eye contact because you could see the medicine bottles with the caps that can be spun infinitely without popping off gleaming in my eyes. When I ran them dry, I took care to throw them away in public disposal places with discretion, as is my custom.

It's dangerous. A pill too many in too short a span, maybe you get careless and drink it down with a dash of Taketsuru 17 - and before you know it, EMTs in oxygen masks will be resuscitating your still heart before sticking you in a room with a hospital evaluator and a bill so exorbitant it laughs at your cheap, gutted, employer-provided insurance policy.

There's a stigma attached to what I've become, in Japanese culture. We're supposed to be in control over every aspect of our our lives, and those who aren't are judged harshly.

One thing leading to another. An antihistimine haze, an active ingredient trance. The tumble down the slippery slope.

And I've been getting sloppier. I've gotten impatient and thrown the empty bottles away at home too. I don't think she suspects or cares though, so we're good.

I haven't slept in weeks. I'm not talking about the transient, false kind of sleep that comes and goes so swiftly you question if you were ever asleep at all. I mean _real_ sleep, the kind with cycles, that drowns you in sweet ethereal dreams. I'm getting desperate. I still shave and keep up appearances, and my eyes are always like this anyway so no one notices. Rotten, everyone has called them from as long as I remember. Everyone from strangers, to my More-than-Acquaintances, and my own family.

Sometimes I leave our bed, and walk out onto the balcony to watch the metropolitan Chiba night skyline, still vibrant with ambient energy. It has a calming effect on my psyche.

Calmed me down so that I could ponder why. The question I've been unable to answer.

I hear the sliding noise of the lock as the key is turned. Not long now.

Here's my theory. I know she already has her foot out of the door, but she wants to make sure she has her next relationship ready for her to smoothly transition to. The old me would've seen this sooner, recognized this crumbling edifice that used to be our relationship.

But I can't keep up the pretense indefinitely. She may take another week until she ends it, but it could be months. I'll end up tiring myself out trying to wait for her to end it on her terms. So I have to do end it on mine.

I've made peace with it. I've already put in my two weeks' notice at my editor's job.

It's halfway through the last month of the six-month lease of our shared apartment, so this is the most convenient time I could have chosen for her sake... I suppose she's already made the preparations, but if not, this will give her the push to go through with it. But this way I get to feel a little better about helping her. Let it not be said that I cannot read the writing on the wall.

So. We've established that the timing is ideal. That's progress.

The method itself has already been determined.

She storms in. I'm standing there, doing nothing in particular. Waiting for her.

Her lip trembles.

"Senpai."

She knows what she's doing. She's intentionally twisting the knife by marrying a term of endearment with deepest hate.

"Iroha."

"How long?" she hisses.

"I don't understand what you're talking about," I follow the script by playing dumb. Giving her the satisfaction of catching me in a lie.

I've already predicted this. The temptation to indulge in anger and righteousness is too strong, she doesn't notice that she's on rails. This conversation is my doing. Every dialogue branch leading her to the same destination.

She raises her arm. In her hand is her phone, held horizontally.

"How long have been fucking _her?_ "

On the screen is someone that appears to be me. Next to that figure is a brunette holding his hand. Her face isn't totally clear but you can see her smile and her dark brown, perpetually tousled-looking hair. The pair are about to enter a place that is very, very incriminating.

"That's not me," I deny.

Except it is. And the girl next to me is Kaori Orimoto.

I'll spare you the details of what comes next. The _how-long-have-you-been-doing-this_ 's and _I-bet-she-laughed-when-she-saw-you-naked_ 's. I just wonder if she thought I was ever capable of hurting her pride like this. I wonder if we ever really understood each other.

I guess some context is necessary. She's the one who caused this ungodly insomnia I've been struggling with. One day, my manager dismissed the staff an hour early and I swung by the headquarters of her company to greet her, and saw her with him, doing something I don't want to describe.

"I can't believe how delusional you are. A _house husband?!_ Even if you worked _every hour_ of _every day_ , who would be stupid enough to marry a useless idiot like you?"

She's not crying at all, there is only pure contempt. This confirms that she doesn't love me anymore.

Had I confronted her over her unfaithfulness, the outcome would've been the same. You know how it goes. She didn't cheat, no, it was I who drove her into the arms of a more handsome, wealthier paramour because of whatever. That's how caught girlfriends worm their way out of it. They reframe things so that it's not their fault. That's why there's no point in asking her why _she's_ out so late.

I've had tunnel vision for a while now. Trying to secure a future for us, the family we might've had. I started working a steady 9 to 5, in solidarity with all the other countless workerbees in this country.

To work is to lose.

I've lost. I've become like all the rest of them for you, Iroha.

Ah, I wish things could've ended differently. Why didn't you just talk to me? I'm not perfect, but when have I ever been offended by your criticisms or been defensive with you?

"Ow!"

I cried out involuntarily as she hurled a vase at me. It rocks my head to the side with the force of the throw and I almost lose my balance. Weird, surely my reactions aren't that slow?

I think it's time to go. I don't want to get hurt anymore.

I move, eyes downcast. I've already shipped my things to my new abode in anticipation of this moment. Will she find this suspicious? I don't think it'll matter. I'm a non-person to her now.

She's beyond furious now, but in time she'll be relieved that I gave her a way out.

I pass by the coffee table in the living room, stooping low to smoothly take hold of the notebook lying on its surface. This will be important soon. Unlike everything else I own, I absolutely need this with me and not with the delivery company like the rest of my belongings. Curses and the shattering of trinkets that we've collected together, our photos, gifts, and of the life we were living together follow in my wake as I leave.

Farewell, Iroha.

I thought we found something genuine together, for a little while at least.

 **STREETS OF CHIBA**

 **11:55 PM, October 26, 2018**

You're just as cynical as I am, aren't you?

Relax, calm down.

I never laid a hand on Orimoto, for your information.

Another almost-relationship I had to end. I don't know how I managed to get her to come with me. She wasn't drunk or bribed so I guess she thought she was playing a joke on me. She came with me in full view of two of Iroha's friends, the goody-two-shoes actually thought they were being stealthy as they tailed me. Hah. Who do you think wrote the book on stealth? Why did I set our meeting point right outside your office building at the end of the workday? Tch. Novices. More likely, they're just flat-out morons.

We watched a romcom movie, then had drinks. Then I left. She'll wake up alone and fully-clothed, except for her coat which I had draped over her sleeping body. She'll have a monstrous hangover, but she'll be fine.

Why her? There's a delicate balance that must be struck. Pick a girl too distant from me and it won't make sense why I'd go for her. Pick one too close to Iroha and it'll hurt Iroha in excess of the emotional power of having the moral high ground I've given her. That's why it had to be Orimoto.

I don't want to hurt Iroha - I want her to be free. Of me. Of any guilt she may have felt, if any.

But I could never lay a hand on Orimoto in such a vile manner, or destroy a bond that Iroha holds dear.

Did you think I was capable of something like that?

Who do you think I am?

You know, we're not off to a great start, you and I -

Wait. I don't mean that. I don't mean that. Let's just try and move on.

...

It's not too surprising though, is it? The role of villain fits me like a glove, even after all these years, huh.

...

Why do this?

I already told you why. Back in the apartment, remember?

...

There's something I'm not telling you? Jeeze, you're more perceptive than I bargained for.

Heh. You wouldn't understand...

...

No, I guess you of all people would understand. Alright, why not.

When she looks at me, she sees someone she hates.

But when I look at her, I still see my kouhai.

The girl telling me I was the only one she could show herself too. The girl I tried to cheer up on the train after the Destinyland rejection by Hayama Hayato, who told me she wanted something genuine too. I can't make her lie to me any longer.

Does that answer your question?

...

I appreciate the moral support back there. But this is where I need you. I'm not sure if I can do this alone. We have to stick this part, so you can't let me back out.

There will be consequences for my actions. I may not have cheated on Iroha, but I hurt her reputation and she'll lash out. I'll be toxic on social media where I have no presence and no means of defending myself. That'll be her revenge.

My hand slides into my pocket and I extract my phone, my fingers automatically swiping the lock screen aside as it flickers to life.

No missed calls.

No new messages.

I think a small part of me wanted to see something. Just a text from someone, anyone, asking how my day went would've made me happy.

It's a reasonable assumption, what you're thinking. But I won't be making a call.

I take a deep breath, and instead power it down and remove the back cover. I pry out the lithium ion battery, so that I can in turn remove the SIM card. I let it rest in the palm of my hand.

This delicate thing contains more of my life than I want to admit.

The last person I spoke to over the phone was Komachi, two days ago. Dear Komachi. She was so happy that I had a real, bonafide girlfriend, who I liked, who liked me. She teases me about her every time we chat. What a good sister. So busy but makes time to check on her big brother. But that's all over. A social butterfly like her, there will be no way she won't find out what happened from Iroha. In a year, maybe two years, she will get over her anger and disgust, and maybe then we can go back to being on good terms.

Hmm?

… Yeah, she'll be beginning her fourth year at Tokyo University and is naturally one of the top students of her class. I'd just be distracting her at a critical juncture in her life if if I tried to go to her now. Good point, it didn't even occur to me until you brought it up... Wow, some Onii-chan I am, huh? She needs to be focused on her studies, so that she can carry the hope of the Hikkigaya family into the future. That's how she'll earn the maximum Komachi points, right...

Yui and Yukino.

I should have told them how I really felt. Instead, I hurt them both. We've barely been on speaking terms since we went our separate ways. Out of some nameless hope, I kept their numbers all these years since we've graduated. I wonder if they kept mine.

...

Enough stalling?

Yes, I suppose you're right.

... Why is this so hard?

...

I slowly turn my hand over, and the SIM card falls down onto the road.

It seems like an eternity passes before I hear the faint clatter of its landing. That sound, barely discernible amid the strains of distant traffic and the wind, makes my legs feel leaden, and I slow down.

I don't expect anyone to call me, not after what I've done. From that perspective, I agree that this is a redundant action. But this is not about them.

This is for me.

I can't find myself in a moment of weakness crying out for help. I will never subject myself to that humiliation. I refuse. I will always refuse.

That's why I did it, this row-by-row deletion operation.

My contact list. Names of people who meant something to me. Sibling squabbles and orders via text from Komachi with my grumbled replies. The first texts I ever exchanged with Yui and Yukino. To me, this SIM card is a small history of our time together as the Service Club. If my memories should ever fail me, then this card is what I hoped would preserve them.

Why is this so hard? The streets are empty. No driver is going to run over it and crush it, not if I turn around and go back for it. Rain won't fall tonight and wash my past into the gutter forevermore. Nothing is stopping me from heading back and retrieving it. My every instinct is screaming for me to do exactly that.

I don't.

Instead, I pick up the pace. In a few minutes, I'm a block away, then two, then three, then four. And just like that, I've become a ghost. No address. No paper trail. No phone number.

This is the strength of Hachiman Hikigaya.

No. That's not entirely accurate.

Truth is, _you_ are my strength.

I mean it.

I couldn't have gone through with this without you. As long as I have you to watch my back, I'll be fine. Moreover - hmm?

I don't have to say any more?

...

I appreciate that. I do.

But I've learned from my past mistakes.

I want our communication to be open and clear. I mean it, we don't have to hide anything from each other. So I'll say it. You're different from the rest of them. The ones who never acknowledged my efforts. The people who only played games and kept me at arm's length, hiding what they truly thought of me.

That's why I want to make a request.

Will you...

Will you be my armor?

* * *

 **Opening theme:** Eddie Averell: Vang

 **Ending theme:** To be decided

 **Ship:** Hachiman x Y

Hi everyone, as you can see this is my first fic. Oregairu is one of the first anime I've watched, and I'm a bit surprised by how big a fan I am of the series. I hope the first chapter interests you enough to read on. I won't reveal too much, but Hachiman's path will lead him back to the people from his past.

But enough about me. Right now, this is about you and Hachiman. Will you be there for him? I think he needs us to watch his back.


	2. Chapter II

_Author's Note:_ _You step inside your cave, and you walk. Keep walking._

* * *

 **Chapter II** : Lying to the Person in the Mirror

* * *

I know I'm dreaming right now. I can tell that if I try to challenge the dream and control it, I'll wake up. My body right now is drifting aimlessly through empty space that's a featureless black, but on either side of me... I guess I could call it a corridor made of snapshots of my life, stitched together.

Everything feels unstable, and it's all kinda blurry, like I'm looking through a lens of a camera that's out of focus.

I watch my memories float by but I'm afraid to reach out and touch them. Doing that would surely end the dream, right?

It's kind of nostalgic though. I gaze around and see myself at student council meetings, exploring the metropolitan districts with my girlfriends, gossiping together, and the horrible exams I had to study for. Hmmm... I'm really quite unique, huh? I can pick myself out even with the blurriness, no problem. No one has the sense of fashion and style I do. Preach it, hehehe.

Seeing my past made me realize, I actually don't remember much of Kaihin Sagou High School. We graduated, kept in touch with each other, and I never looked back.

But out of the corner of my eye, I see one image lost in there that's almost hidden behind a layer of fresher memories. There's an even younger version of myself, skinny and girlish with a red ribbon in my hair, standing in a hallway lit by a sunset. There's a dark-haired boy facing me, telling me something.

Something clicks in my subconscious. It's that feeling you get when you recognize something but you can't quite find the words, can't recall that elusive name.

I try to peer closer and focus my attention on the boy.

That's when the weird sound, a distorted melody girded by white noise, cuts in, and the blurred collage of my past vanishes. The dream ends before I get close enough to find out who the boy is, and what he wants to tell me.

 **A VERY INCRIMINATING PLACE**

 **6:30 am, October 27th, 2018**

I used to have an alarm clock, a big plastic rabbit that held a carrots in its paws displaying the time in blinking LED red against a black backdrop. Always perched on the corner of my nightstand, the stupid thing would destroy my hopes and dreams every single school day.

It was such a hassle to shut it off, especially in those first few minutes when you're still lethargic. The off button was somewhere on top of the plastic carrot, and my hand would grope blindly for, like, a billion years before I found it.

Uttering a low groan, I reach out toward the source of the noise. My fingers close around it with surprising ease, and it takes me a little while before I realize the profile of the object's too slim to be Rabbit-san.

Reluctantly, I crack an eye open, blowing away long strand of dark brown hair that had fallen in front of my face.

The world comes into focus and I see that it's not Rabbit-san and it's not my bedroom. Instead, I find myself holding my ringing smartphone in its lavender Paradise Kiss case, and I'm lying on a couch in front of a long since silenced entertainment system. The blank dark screen of the plasma television reflects my sleepy-eyed appearance. Groggy though I am, I straighten up, hoping it jogs my memories of what had happened the previous night.

But first, I have to take the call.

Suppressing a yawn, I thumb the _Accept Call_ icon and drag the circle indicator outward, and raise my phone to my ear.

 _"Hello Kaori, here's your wake-up call!"_ a familiar voice, a little tired by still cheery, sings out.

"Thank you mom! I'm sorry if you had to wake up early."

 _"Of course not, you know me, always the early bird. Are you working overtime? I thought this job didn't run into the weekends."_

"Nope! First time!" I say cheerfully, trying not to sound as tired as I feel. "Thanks for waking me up, I better get moving."

 _"Love and kisses darling, I'll talk to you later!"_

 _"_ Love and kisses, mom!"

 _Beep._

I unleash a fearsome yawn, stretching as I do so. The movement causes a rustling noise, and I suddenly I feel colder.

 _Huh?_

My coat had fallen to the carpeted floor.

...

Hmph. How could I forget. This stupid hangover made me forget about everything.

Hikigaya-kun must've draped my coat over me when I fell asleep. But glancing around furtively, I see no sign of my date. I puff out my cheek in annoyance. Making sure I was warm was considerate, although it _is_ pretty rude to take a girl to a love hotel and then just leave her there. Who does that guy think he is?

I absently open up the _Junmai Jumon_ app, the social network in vogue right now. And I guess that's when I really woke up.

 _'What a scumbag!'_

 _'So glad you kicked that loser to the curb.'_

 _'Frankly you were always too good for him, I just didn't want to say it back then.'_

This is really ugly...

My understanding was that Hikigaya-kun and Isshiki were going through a rough patch and he was looking to end their relationship.

Yeah, yeah... it's probably not super kosher to go on an obvious date with him while he's still attached. In my defense, I had no intention of taking iy anywhere, I just wanted to get to know him better.

Anyway, someone in Isshiki's circle obviously must have seen us. I obsessively scan through the post history, but can't find who ratted us out. She just made the announcement condemning Hikigaya-kun and then went silent.

For some reason, Isshiki hadn't outed _me._

 _..._

Should I call him?

How will he handle this? Does he even have a social media account? I feel like I should talk to him. Honestly, little drama like this happens all the time. He needs someone to let him know things will be okay.

But is he even interested in me? The timing doesn't feel right at all. How troublesome.

I'm a little conflicted. Our evening together was actually really nice. We'd met at Lake Teganuma where we walked along the shore and fed breadcrumbs to the geese. It was a very cool place to meet up, I'm surprised he came up with the idea to be honest. We caught a ride over to the arcade, and then a table tennis center. To cap it off, we went to a French restaurant together. He had no idea what kind of wine to order, but the waiter had come to the rescue and recommended us a great red one.

Maybe we could wait a few weeks or something so before all this blows over, and then we can go on own first 'official' date. I don't mind, really...

With these thoughts running through my mind, I put away my phone and pull my coat on. It'll be bright soon, so I better leave.

The halls of the hotel are empty. There are signs that point to the back exit, to lead covert lovers to discrete getaways. I push open the door, and step outside.

The sound of the door falling shut behind me makes me smile ruefully.

For a moment, I picture what might have happened had he stayed. Hikigaya waking up, and being impressed I had the quick thinking to set up a wake-up call so that we could get home discretely. Really, I'm quite the clever girl.

I walk down the street, setting a brisk pace. There's something about the crisp morning air that makes me feel awake. The colors of the street are low in pitch, muted in slumber before they are to be rejuvenated by a revitalized sun.

I guess I'll wait for him to call me.

 **THE CAPSULE HOTEL**

 **7:48 am, October 27th, 2018**

Another sleepless night. They don't affect me anymore, I don't think.

You know. I almost caved yesterday. Or was it today.

It's so odd, isn't it. Once it's past midnight, it isn't really yesterday anymore, but if we're still awake we don't like to acknowledge that the day is done and dusted. Have you ever pulled an all-nighter, and you weren't sure when one day ended and the next began? Little tricks of the mind like that amuse me.

During the walk here, a cab passed me by and it was all I could do to not flag it down and tell them to bring me to the train station. I thought of waiting there and taking the next outbound train to Tokyo in the morning. To home.

To me, home means Komachi. It always has.

Iroha meant that to me as well, for a time. But that's all over now.

Damn. The agony is unbearable, I had to bite down on my knuckles to stop myself from breaking down yesterday. Now, here I am in the confines of this cheap capsule hotel. It's less a room and more a coffin, perhaps a feet on either side and a little extra leg room. There's barely enough vertical space to sit upright, much less stand at full height.

But you're right. We were talking every other day. She'd get bored and want to chat with me, and I being the model onii-chan that I am obliged her. But that's all in the past. I can't outrun the consequences of my actions, my final social suicide.

My back is pressed against the far end of the coffin, my arms wrapped around my knees as I think.

What if I'm wrong about everything? What if Komachi and I can be part of each others' lives again?

Should I call her? Should I let my parents know?

… No, you're right.

No second-guessing.

You can't imagine how grateful I am that you think I'm handling this the right way. Lately, I've been questioning my decision-making ability. Together we'll figure out how to move forward.

I get up. My body protests as I drag myself to the opposite end of the coffin, and hit the latch so that it opens. The only other thing in here is my backpack, with two days' change of clothes, my notebook, and my laptop. Everything else is in a storage unit, waiting for me to piece my life together.

I stretch as I stand vertical for the first time in hours, slinging the backpack on.

I take the elevator down to the lobby and check out, stepping out into the grey predawn hours.

For so long I've been sleepless, meandering through my pointless day-to-day existence and going through the motions.

The sun has risen and fallen, risen anew, fallen again.

I'm so tired...

Has this all been one long day?

 **CHIBA PREFECTURAL CENTRAL LIBRARY**

 **5:37 pm, October 29th**

Chiba's largest public library is only fifteen minutes' walk from Keisei Chiba-Chuo Station.

I head up to the second floor and a secluded alcove, and set up my laptop.

Why am I here?

Because I need to tune in.

My fingers dance across the keyboard, and soon enough a low-def live stream of the Kawaguchi Auto Race Circuit occupies half the screen. The other half is taken by a separate window, a bookkeeping site with a column of odds and the over-under statistics on the race. The site's skin is threadbare - and for good reason. It is accessible only through Tor. My attention is split evenly, perfectly, across the two windows.

I make sure the connection is stable, then watch as the race begins. Eight racers on 599cc regulation bikes.

The first half of the race just confirms the natural order of the pack. By the third lap, things have stabilized and the projected outcome seems to fall in line with the numbers.

The frontunners, Hachigoro and Eizo, are battling for the first position. Naoya is keeping it tight as the likely third-place finisher, breathing down their necks. If the first two slip up, he'll take this. And behind them, in the middle of the pack, is Ninsei, clad in black and white.

I watch them blaze over the asphalt track.

The fourth lap comes and goes, and there are no shakeups. The odds have finalized.

The fifth and penultimate lap brings little change, the riders at the rear switching places but otherwise the outcome seems certain. The window for placing bets is swiftly closing, so I make my move. The odds overwhelmingly favor Hachigoro as he edges past Eizo with one lap remaining.

From the aerial perspective of the broadcast, I can see it: the opening through the gauntlet of bikes and their riders. The question is, does Ninsei see it too? The final pass is coming up, and there's a spring-loaded tension in the air as the riders focus all their concentration on trying to edge the person in front of them.

I place a live bet representing one fifth of my net worth on Ninsei, and wait.

It's the most gorgeous pass I've ever seen.

For a split second, Ninsei coasts, twisting his bike so that it's aligned almost perpendicular to the rest of the field as they lean around the turn, and accelerates hard while the others are leaning to make the turn, taking off like a rocket. It's a beautiful risk, and the rider in black and white and I, the both of us, are rewarded for it.

I close the stream.

The notebook lying innocently is the cause of this. I've studied the past eighteen races in minute detail, profiling each rider and noting their strengths and weaknesses. The research paid off.

This time.

This isn't sustainable longterm. But it doesn't have to be. I never revealed to you the fullest extent of the 108 skills of Hachiman Hikigaya, did I?

It was a fool's bid, the bet I placed. But my improbable 11-to-1 shot had paid off tremendously. I can't lie, it feels good to have the pressure weighing down on me lift, at least in part.

I pack up and leave.

I visit a laundromat a few streets away.

I throw in the two sets of clothes I have with me into an open machine and let it run.

I walk over to a waiting area, and bring out my laptop. I connect to the WiFi, and fire up the IRC V4.0 application.

Yeah, there are newer programs. I know about them. They're all marketed as making things more _personal_. Ha. To those in the know, it's merely another word for superficiality. A two-way video call, so you see each other through webcam. There's no substance in such a thing. Just an added pressure to smile and give fake laughter, pretending it's an intimate conversation.

The chatroom I want to join is password-protected. I punch it in.

 ** _HH has joined the chat._**

I check the time.

 _6:17 pm._

I wait.

A few minutes pass before the only other person who knows the password hops on.

 ** _KT has joined the chat._**

A smile rises unbidden to my lips. It's almost embarrassing how eagerly I am to start typing. I hold off for about a minute, for appearance's sake, then type a greeting.

 _HH:_ _Hey man._

Perfect. Short, yet dignified. No punctuation.

 _KT: Hey HH. How are things going?_

 _HH: They're going ok. You?_

 _KT: Pretty good._

 _KT: I don't know if told you, but I've started looking forward to talking with you lately. My best fan!_

If you knew who he was, you'd understand why I'm so flattered. He's a light novel author, one of the big names to jump onto the scene recently. I met him online through one of his fan community events. We haven't met in person.

He's what I aspire to be. I know, it sounds so trite. Someone with no demonstrable talent for writing hoping to do it for a living. I get it.

Yet, this is what I want. In addition to my calculations and analyses on autoracing, my notebook contains my ideas for what I want to write. I've even floated some of them to KT, and he's given me encouragement.

 _HH: Likewise. I can't believe I get to chat with you honestly 1 on 1 haha._

I grimace. I'm coming off way too strong.

 _KT: LOL you don't have to be so starstruck._

The last time we talked was last week. He was asking me about some of the previous month's releases and we basically pinged reviews and our opinions' off each other. We really have similar tastes.

 _KT: S_ _ay, I never got the chance to get you an autographed copy of the first volume._

Before I can really digest what he wrote, another message pops up in the log.

 _KT: Hey. We should meet in person._

My breath catches in my throat.

 _KT: What do you say?_

Is this really happening?

 _HH: I'd love to._

I realize I have no idea where he lives. I feel a smug sense of satisfaction for securing my windfall earlier today. I might've been too strapped for cash otherwise, but now I comfortably have enough to make any proposed meetup happen.

 _HH: I don't know where or when you have in mind, but I live in Chiba._

 _KT: I'm actually outside of Japan atm. On vacation._

 _KT: Do you travel?_

Do I travel? No, I've barely been to Osaka and Kyoto a handful of times in my life, much less set foot beyond the borders of Japan. But there's obviously no way I can admit that to someone of his standing.

 _HH: Of course I do haha._

 _KT: As I expected from one as worldly as yourself!_

 _KT: I'm in Macau._

 ** _HH has joined the chat._**

 _KT: I was thinking this Thursday, Nov 1, 7:00pm local at Senado Square?_

 _..._

Please tell me you saw that too?

My gut instinct is that I'm seeing things, so I rub at my eyes.

But when I look again, that entry's still there.

My eyes dart to the participants list. I see KT, HH, and...

Another HH. There are apparently two of us now.

Do you think this is just a glitch?

KT has fallen silent in the meantime. He's probably as weirded out as I am.

I glance up to scan my surroundings. I see only the swirling visages of the laundry machines operating in front of me. The laundromat is otherwise empty.

I look back to the screen and start typing again.

 _HH: There's a third guest._

Silence.

My anxiety builds, and I punch in another message.

 _HH: Do you see this?_

I wait until it becomes unbearable. I guess he doesn't know what to make of this either. Or he isn't affected by the glitch.

 _KT: I have to go. I'll shoot you an email, talk to you later._

Then he leaves.

I watch his username vanish from the participants list.

This action leaves me alone with my virtual doppleganger.

I shouldn't be unnerved by something like this. Someone else in KT's confidence joined the chat, that's all. Only, it happened at the _exact moment_ he gave the time and location of our meetup. It's arrogant to think I'm the only one of his contacts he trusts.

Irritated, I punch in a message to convey my displeasure.

 _HH: Hey asshole, why don't you say something?_

A strange thought occurs to me.

Suppose there's a second me, somewhere, anywhere else, in Japan. He types exactly what I type and hits send the exact moment I do. What's to say KT saw 'his' messages instead of mine?

I glare at the screen, but nothing is forthcoming. Just a silent clone of me, waiting in cyberspace.

God, I'm making such a fool of myself in front of you aren't I?

I know this is crazy talk. I don't know why I'm feeling so uneasy. You're absolutely right, this is a glitch and nothing more.

I kill the IRC application and exhale.

KT said he'll send me an email. But will he really? Maybe this strange incident frightened him out of our meetup? Shit. This isn't the way it was supposed to go...

On the other hand, I started talking to him before I met you, and I can tell you KT and I have a good relationship. We're as close as two internet strangers can be. He wouldn't withdraw an offer to meet in person because of a weird technical abnormality like this.

A series of climbing tones breaks the monotonous sound of washers running, signaling the completion of the last cycle. Leaving my laptop unattended for a moment, I transfer my wet clothes to the dryer.

I pace back and forth, fretting over what's happened.

I guess I need to leave it be, right? Worrying myself over it isn't going to do me any good.

It's tough, having nothing to do. Worse still is having to resist the urge to check my email. KT's such a busy person, he might not get around to it till tomorrow or even later during the week.

OK! That's it, no more dwelling on this.

...

I've got it.

I go to the Sumitomo Mitsui online banking hub, and type in my credentials. Just to check and make sure the deposit from the sportsbetting site was made successfully.

I see an incoming transfer from Bank SinoPac Company Limited under Transactions. However, the amount is redacted, and instead I see _'HOLD'_ preceding a long-winded code that must be internal to the institution.

I frown. This is highly unusual. I hit refresh, but it doesn't change. I take my notebook and pen, and jot down the customer support number.

When the dryer is done, I stow away my newly laundered clothes and my laptop, I hurriedly sling the straps of my backpack over my shoulders and all but burst through the doors.

It's not long till I find a payphone. I call up the customer support line, listen carefully to the options, and enter my account number on the numberpad. Then I impatiently mash 0. The damned automated voice system actually refuses to connect me to a representative, it keeps restarting until I force my hand down by my side to let it finish.

" _I'm sorry, please state the issue for which you wish to consult one of our representatives."_

I sigh, and take a breath to temper myself.

"I see a hold on an anticipated transfer."

" _Please wait while we connect you to one of our representatives."_

I drum my fingers impatiently as I listen to the dial tone.

Then -

" _H_ _i, this is Sakura with Sumitomo Mitsui Trust_ Bank," a chipper, feminine voice speaks up, " _How may I be of service today?_ "

"Hi. I see a hold on an incoming transfer I was expecting. Can you release it. Please?" I add.

I wait patiently as I listen to the rapid typing in the background.

" _I'm sorry. I see the transfer. But we actually can't accept it from this particular institution at this time..."_ her voice trails off at the end.

I scowl. This doesn't make any sense whatsoever.

"What do you mean?"

" _We're not sure..."_ she says apologetically, " _I'm sorry, I can't tell you any more at the moment, this is a very recent development. All I'm allowed to say is that these holds are indefinite right now. I can inform you as soon as we expect for these hold orders to be released?"_

My anger dissipates. I can tell she means it.

"Okay," I say quietly. "Please do it by email. My phone isn't working right now."

I hang up.

I blow out a deep breath. A feeling of dread rears its ugly head. I think I might know what's going on.

I wait a minute as I collect my thoughts. Then I lift the phone off the receiver again.

I make a second call.

A voice answers.

 _"Who is this?"_

"Hachiman."

A short pause.

 _"You're calling about the cash-out aren't you. There have been some difficulties recently."_

"So I've heard. There's an indefinite hold on incoming wire transfers from SinoPac to my Sumitomo Mitsui account. This has never happened before."

The voice on the other end of the line is quiet for a while. Then, it sighs.

 _"You know the new Minister of Justice who was appointed in August? Well, this Hiroshi Inukai, he launched an anti-corruption drive last week. I guess it's pretty clear what's going on. We were going to put the word out, but we wanted to make sure. Sorry man."_

I don't like this.

"So," I say hesitantly, "It's... all locked up, then?"

" _Yeah. We've been able to do some of the payouts through domestic launderers, which is why we weren't sure if Inukai's drive was targeting the grey area sportsbooks. But_ _the foreign shell groups and our banks, in Macau, Hong Kong, Seoul, - they're all locked out. You'd have to go in person to get your money."_

I'm aware that this sounds pretty sketchy. Don't worry, nothing untoward is going on.

 _"_ OK, fine. Do I have to do anything special? If I deposit the exact amount that was frozen in the transfer, that'll look bad won't it?"

 _"How much you looking to get a hold of?"_

"A million two hundred, give or take," I say impatiently.

The voice paused, then chuckled.

" _Congratulations, friend. It looks like you made a good bet. Although, that puts you slightly above the threshold at which you can deposit without clearing it with the NTA."_

I mull over the words. And realize he's right. It's not a huge mistake - at least it shouldn't be - but I shouldn't have overlooked this nevertheless. Of course the government has anti-laundering laws in place. Whether on the withdrawal or deposit side, rent for even the most upscale Tokyo apartments, down payments for most cars - the vast majority of the population has no need to withdraw more than a million yen at a time. Gifts in excess of that need to be documented with the NTA, the National Tax Agency.

The voice laughs again.

 _"There's no need to worry. Here's what we do. G_ _o to the SinoPac location in Macau and have them issue your payout via check and cancel the transfers. The teller will give you a card. Just use it to deposit the check when you find a generic ATM over there, they'll be all over the place. Then we can space out the payments to you over a couple of weeks, with no paper trail linking it to the Macau bank. No one will bother looking closer."_

That sounds logical enough. They'll be the middle man, and it'll work because I don't need the money at all once. Depositing a million two hundred thousand yen on its own is not a spectacularly jaw dropping sum of money, but it's more than any paycheck I've received. It'd be a red flag if I received it all at once.

But there's the matter of issuing a check. Call me paranoid, but I don't like the idea of carrying a check for that much money if I don't absolutely need to.

"How about you give me the account and the routing number?" I reason, "I'll just ask them to transfer it to whatever middle-man account you guys are using directly."

" _Sorry man. We don't want our launderers to be linked to our source accounts electronically."  
_

Well. I had to ask, didn't I.

 _"_ Alright, if you say so," I say with a sigh.

 _"One last thing. Make it a cashier's check. There have been some... ah, liquidity concerns about the particular bank, especially in light of the investigation. Too many things we're trying to deal with right now to check on it. If they issue it to you, that'll alleviate our concerns a bit. You don't mind doing us a little favor... don't you?"_

Are they afraid one of their guys ran off with the money in the betting pool? I suppose if the bank issues it, that would answer the question. But issuing a cashier's check would only guarantee a draft of the exact sum of my payout. The people they're colluding with could still be on the take.

But I don't really care. I don't intend on taking this risk or associating with any of these people ever again. As far as I'm concerned, this is the last time the two of us speak.

"... Yeah, I get it. Thanks," I say, then I end the call.

Lost in thought, I head back to the capsule hotel. Because of their policies, we have to check out every day, and check back in. Each time I'm given the key to a different room, a different coffin. Not that you could tell any of them apart.

I unlock the latch and crawl inside, unceremoniously tossing in my bag.

I wince at the thump it made. Dumb move, my laptop's in there.

I close the entrance behind me and huddle up in the opposite end of the coffin. I extract my laptop and boot it up. It's an old one, an HP EliteBook 8740w. Enterprise-grade rather than for personal use, so the build is higher quality; aluminum instead of plastic.

I login to my email account.

I see one new message sitting at the top of my inbox.

The subject line makes me forget about everything.

 _Hey HH!_

KT emailed me after all. I can't help it, I'm smiling. I click on it.

 _Sorry for being so abrupt back there, I guess I got nervous when our, ah, silent friend joined out private chat. I hope you understand, not all my fans are cool and level-headed as you. I still want to meet you in person. It's rare that I can feel someone else's passion for writing and reading, anywhere._ _I've enjoyed talking to you and hope we can be friends IRL._

 _I'll wait for you at 7:00 pm local, at the lobby of the Hotel Sofitel Macau at Ponte 16. Same date, this Thursday, November 1st. I hope to see you soon!_

 _Yours,_

 _KT_

I read it carefully, twice, three times.

The events of the past few days have worn me down, but now I feel a sense of a truer calm, now. Grateful for this, I ponder my next course of action.

Ever since I was little, I've always been someone happy to stay in my comfort zone. Going to Macau would be the first time I've ever left Japan. I love Chiba, I don't see the need to venture elsewhere unless I need to attend a mandatory class trip. I'd prefer to have the meetup in Japan.

But KT would likely propose that himself. The fact that he didn't means he's taking a longer-term vacation in Macau. I don't expect him to end his vacation early for me, not when we're only a step above being strangers.

To meet KT, to both meet a writer I admire and to, possibly, make a real contact in the industry I want to break into - it might be worth it.

Then, I'll go to the meeting place and hopefully make a positive first impression. Then that'll be it. There's no risk involved at all.

Only, there is a risk, isn't there. KT is one of the most successful light novel authors in recent memory. He's several rungs above me on the ladder. I'm at the base of the social pyramid; he's near the top. Yet, I feel like we could be friends. But if I blow it, that'll just... be the end of things between us, right?

...

Heh.

You don't have to awkwardly reassure me. I'm an adult, you know. If things aren't meant to be, they aren't meant to be. No one knows this better than I.

We have to think through this logically, not emotionally.

Following on that, there's the matter of my finances. The reality of approaching my mid-twenties is that I need to shelter and feed myself. By that standpoint, making this trip is necessary. I can make arrangements to arrive there early in the day, make the withdrawal, deposit the check. I'll let 'them' handle it and sever all ties once I get my full winnings.

I do the math in my head. I have, all told, three million four hundred thousand yen to my name. Subtract the cost of the flight and I'm down to three million two hundred thousand, I'll be scalped a bit since I'm booking it in such a rush. It'll cost me more if I can't catch a return flight on the same day and I get backed into booking a hotel. There's a question mark on how things will go with KT. If it's a disaster, I won't be there for along. But if things go well, I'll stay if he can bear my company.

I can comfortably afford a day in Macau. Two will be a setback.

A week will all but bankrupt me.

...

Screw it.

We're going.

* * *

Hachiman teaching us how to gamble responsibly and practice strict bankroll management, ladies and gentlemen.

 **NIGHT DRIVING ARMOR TIMELINE**

 **THE HIGH SCHOOL YEARS**

 _January 11th, 2011_ : The day You first met Hachiman.

 **THE INTERVENING YEARS**

 _March 31st, 2017_ : Hachiman graduates from Tokyo University.

 _March 30th, 2018_ : Iroha graduates, Komachi completes her junior year.

 _Sometime later_ : Hachiman begins experiencing insomnia.

 **PRESENT TIME**

 _October 26th, 2018_ : The events of Night Driving Armor begin.


End file.
